


Hunter

by Jinko



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Guardian Angels, Kinda, M/M, Reincarnation, Season 5 AU, Suicidal Thoughts, blind!Ian, homophobic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4060495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinko/pseuds/Jinko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich was nineteen years old when he was killed.<br/>He came back a couple of days later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> This is easily the strangest, oddest, weirdest fic I've ever written and I've written mpreg before. Yeah. I believe in happy endings. It'll end happily. I promise.

Mickey Milkovich was nineteen years old when he was killed.

He came back a couple of days later.

-

His name was Hunter. It didn’t make much sense to him. He wasn’t a hunter. He was a helper. That’s what his trainer said. She said that he was going to help someone when he graduated. He was going to be a helper.

He liked his trainer. He couldn’t remember a time before he was with his trainer. She was beautiful, with a smile that made him feel at peace, and always smelt like his favourite treats. She wasn’t going to be his trainer forever but he knew that would be alright.

He loved her like she was his mother. Mickey knew she wasn’t his mother – his mother had died years ago, or he was taken from her months ago, maybe he didn’t know his own mother all that well after all – but he still loved her like she was his mother nonetheless. She cared for him and loved him like he was her child, bathed him and fed him and raised him right, which was more than what he could say of his father. He wasn’t sure why but he hated his father. He didn’t know which father he hated, but he hated at least one of them.

Mickey was big and proud the day his trainer told him that he was potentially meeting The One. He had to meet The One before he could graduate so they could graduate together. It was both exciting and sad for Mickey – he wouldn’t be able to see his trainer ever again, after what felt like a lifetime of love and caring, but he was ready to meet the person he would help for the rest of his life.

It was strange. He felt like he’d already met The One. He felt like it was something he’d already done – that he’d already found The One person who was supposed to be his whole world until he died, but he was excited to meet another One again.

His owner was just as excited and sad to see him go. She petted him again and again as she put him into the cage in the back of her van. Mickey knew that some guide dogs weren’t always matched the first time they met with a potential owner, but he felt like he was going to find The One.

There was a window he could look out and while he was sure he’d never been where he was going, it looked familiar to him, and he felt nothing but nervous butterflies in his belly as they got closer to where they were going. He felt like he knew where they were going.

The house they stopped out the front of was far from the large centre he’d grown up in. It was a two-storey building, looking a little worse for wear, but it looked like home to Mickey. It looked safe and homely and there was something so beautiful about it that Mickey thought he might’ve been too excited to get into his harness.

All his trainer did when she opened up the boot and Mickey’s cage was put on his leash. Leash meant he could be a regular dog. His harness meant that he had to be serious about his job. She led him out of the van and he took in the scents and the sounds of world around him – it was like taking a breath of fresh air. Everything was so strangely familiar.

He walked alongside his trainer to the front door and sat patiently as they waited for the door to be opened.

A thin woman with wild hair and a relieved look on her face answered the door.

“Hi, I’m Fiona,” she greeted and shook Mickey’s trainer’s hand.

His trainer introduced herself (he didn’t hear her name) before she introduced him as Hunter. It wasn’t his real name but he answered to it.

“Ian’s in the kitchen. He’s, uh, not doing so well with the whole…” She motioned at her face, specifically her eyes. “But he lost more than just his eyesight in the attack. He’s not in the best place right now. We were expecting this to be a longer wait, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Come on in.”

“Are there many children in the house?” his trainer asked and Mickey could smell that yes, there were several people living in the house.

“Ian’s my middle child,” Fiona said and Mickey stayed in line with his trainer. He was going to prove that he’d be good for Ian.

His One.

“Well, he’s my younger brother but I’m his legal guardian. I’m the oldest of six. The youngest is five years old. Our father, half-sister and her son are living here, too. Ian just turned eighteen.”

They moved on from the living room to the kitchen and Mickey spotted him sitting at the bench.

He was beautiful, with hair as red as fire and freckles that covered his cheeks, sitting in a green shirt and hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

Mickey paused suddenly because he could define red and green.

It came back to him like a punch.

He was Mickey Milkovich, a human. A nineteen-year-old male who’d lived in Chicago all his life, who’d had a wife and a son and a sister and a boyfriend, and he’d been killed on the streets.

The memory was so vivid. It had been dark and cold but bright and warm and there was such happiness that made his heart feel so full until it abruptly wasn’t. An arm was slung over his shoulder, the right side of his body was holding the person he loved the most to him. They’d been through so much and they were finally together, out, and happy.

But then it all came crashing down.

His love was torn from him. Mickey remembered it was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. There were so many of them – he saw the blow to the back of a head covered in orange hair and felt the hands grab at him to separate them. He saw Ian fall to the ground, face-first, and he yelled when a person crouched over his body to stab him in the back twice.

Mickey remembered doing everything he could to fight them off, to get closer to Ian again. He remembered a second blade piercing his own abdomen again and again and again as they dragged him away and into an alley. He remembered the words they spat at him as they kicked at him, repeating the names his own father – the father he knew he hated – had called him and he remembered being so scared.

It was over so quickly. The cold won before Mickey could crawl his way out of the alley to find Ian. It was the end and even after everything they’d been through, the years of pain and hiding, the world had still somehow stopped them from being together.

He remembered that that was the most painful of it all.

And then the next thing he knew, he was Hunter, a fully-grown future guide dog and living for the chance to help The One when he was good enough.

Mickey couldn’t believe that he’d forget his Ian so readily.

(he couldn’t believe that he’d somehow been reincarnated as a dog, either, but that was a completely different mental breakdown he’d end up freaking out over.)

But there he was, sitting with Fiona beside him, sunglasses covering his eyes as a mug of coffee in his hands and he was alive and Mickey might not have been the Mickey he’d been before, but he was there with his Ian.

He could have cried.

He dashed quickly over the linoleum, his nails tap-tapping across the floor in his haste to get closer to Ian.

“Whoa,” he heard Fiona laugh but he didn’t care for it. Mickey stretched himself up so he could nuzzle at Ian’s thigh, just _wishing_ he could let the man he loved so much know that he was alright and that he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Hunter, heel,” his trainer ordered and it felt like there were two parts inside him that fought – the human, Mickey, wanted to never leave Ian’s side and the dog, Hunter, wanted to listen to his trainer’s demand, because he was a good dog who obeyed.

Mickey decided to back off. The only way he’d be able to stay with Ian was if he could prove that he was good for him, so he retreated. He backtracked until he was sitting at his trainer’s feet, like good pup he was.

He looked up at his trainer and saw her in full colour. He saw the darkness of her hair, the brightness of her blue eyes and the way her smile seemed to lighten the world and something nagged at him about her but he couldn’t place it.

Not yet. 

There was something so motherly about her that it made him want to curl up in his lap like he was five years old all over again, but he knew that he, as Hunter, was only a little over a year old, and it confused him. He also knew that he was far too big to be a lap dog.

“He’s obedient,” Mickey heard Fiona say to his trainer before he heard her open a cupboard door.

He didn’t take his eyes off Ian.

Ian looked sick and thin and tired and it was like Mickey was being stabbed all over again, only the blade was aimed at his heart instead of his gut.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d love some.”

They got straight to business while Fiona poured the coffee. Mickey’s trainer introduced herself to Ian – Mickey felt a tinge of jealousy when she reached out and shook Ian’s hand. “This is Hunter,” she said softly with her fingers wrapped around Ian’s. “Can I show him to you?”

“I can’t see.”

Mickey nearly whimpered at the sound of Ian’s voice.

Three syllables was all it took for Mickey to hear how hurt he was. He sounded broken, like he was falling to pieces, and no one was there to pick them up.

“I know, sweetheart.” She pulled on Ian’s hand gently, helping to ease him closer to Mickey. “You have to rely on your other senses now. Seeing with your hands helps.”

Mickey moved up off his haunches to stand by Ian’s chair and prepared himself to be feel Ian’s hand on him. He just about melted when Ian’s fingers finally sifted through the fur on top of his head. His tail shook so hard he was pretty damn sure his butt was going to launch off the ground or wear a hole through the floor.

Ian’s other hand joined the first, running over Mickey’s snout and under his jaw. His nails scratched behind his ears and down his neck and back up again and it made Mickey so unbelievably happy that he decided then and there that it didn’t matter if Ian didn’t know that he was Mickey – he didn’t care as long as he was near Ian for the rest of their lives.

Even when Ian moved on, found someone else to love and have a life with, Mickey would be happy with just this.

God, it would be so hard, but he’d do it.

The next month would decide if Mickey was the dog for Ian or not and he was going to do everything he could to make sure that he was.

“We can take a walk around the block to test out if Hunter is right for you, Ian, and we’ll go from there.” She didn’t wait for Ian’s answer. “Hunter, stay.”

His trainer disappeared for a few moments and returned with his harness. She explained to both Ian and Fiona how the harness worked as she strapped Mickey into it and all of his training hit him.

Mickey knew that his harness meant it was time for work, not play. That was guide dog basics.

He behaved like the good dog he was but could barely contain the happiness he was feeling.

His One had been his One all along.

Ian didn’t really respond much at all to the trainer. She directed him, told him what he needed to say to Mickey to make him move and lead him around the block, but Ian didn’t say anything unless he was prompted to. He’d bark out his orders to Mickey, to cross the street when he was told it was safe to go, but he generally seemed disinterested in the whole thing, like he was eager to return home but couldn’t even muster the energy to act like he wanted to be home.

But Mickey soldiered on. He kept his head up high and his pace in time with Ian’s and he listened out for cars and other humans and tried to ignore how overwhelmed he was by all the scents in south side Chicago and how desperately he wanted to piss on that pole to say that it was _his_. He needed to be good for Ian and he was.

He knew he was good for Ian when he led them back to the house and his trainer showed Fiona how to take off his harness. She wouldn’t need to know that if it didn’t seem like Mickey would be in their lives.

Fiona set out a bowl of water for him to drink from while she, his trainer and Ian talked over (well, Ian didn’t do any of the talking other than to say that he was comfortable with Hunter) what the next few steps for them would be.

They agreed that Mickey was perfect for Ian. He was the perfect height, he walked at the right pace and he was bright enough to steer Ian, who was totally blind. He was well-trained and was perfectly suited for someone who couldn’t see a thing. Mickey practically preened under that praise – Hunter would’ve – and could have cried with happiness when they started to arrange the two weeks Ian and Mickey would spend together, learning how to work as one to help Ian live his life.

A week from then, Fiona was set to take Ian into the city to stay at a hotel. He was one of eleven people who’d be staying there for the course – they all varied in blindness, but no one could deny that they needed a guide dog. The dogs were staying there, too, and worked just as hard as the humans so that they could all be matched up with their One and achieve what they’d spent a lifetime working towards.

So while Mickey hated that he had to leave the Gallagher house that afternoon, he knew that in just seven days’ time, he’d be Ian’s forever.

Ian didn’t say a word the whole time they were in the class. Others raised their hands and asked questions; they chatted away about how excited and relieved they were about finally getting a dog. They were happy to gain that little bit of freedom they’d lost since losing their eyesight and often saw their disability as a burden on the people they lived with and loved (a lot of people reassured the class that this absolutely wasn’t the case) and felt like getting a guide dog would help give them some of their independency back.

The more they talked, the more Mickey realised the other ten members in their group found the talking to be cathartic. Mickey hadn’t been one for group therapy – no Milkovich ever was or ever would be – but he spent much of those classes at Ian’s feet, _wishing_ that he would speak up, open up, and get it off his chest. Mickey figured Ian was the only one there who’d lost his eyesight because he was bashed and stabbed because of his sexuality and he figured he was the only one there who’d lost his lover the way Ian had and that every moment when he was reminded that he couldn’t see was a reminder that he’d had Mickey taken away from him, but Mickey withed with everything he had that Ian would try.

Ian didn’t. He kept to himself the whole time and only spoke when he had to. A part of Mickey was _terrified_ that Ian’s unwillingness to talk would mean they wouldn’t be matched, but after the two weeks passed and Ian and Mickey completed their training with flying colours, Mickey was finally a graduate from his guide dog training and was finally becoming an honorary Gallagher.

They put on a show, really, and Mickey couldn’t help but find the humour in him graduating from school after he died and was no longer a human. He got up in that ridiculous gown – his trainer had nearly cried when she’d finished tying it all together. He’d seen the tears and watched her beam like the proudest mother – she made sure his fur was smooth and perfect and shiningly healthy.

And when it was over, when he’d graduated, Mickey had one last moment with his trainer before he was put in his harness. He held his head up high as he led Ian to the nearest bus stop, happy to be with Ian permanently and partially showing off his skills for Fiona.

Both Fiona and Mickey had encouraged Ian to return to school and after Ian had re-enrolled, Ian had worked on getting Mickey to consider getting his GED. Fiona never seemed very interested in Mickey furthering his education. She wasn’t too keen on him – not the way Debbie and Carl had accepted him.

So he held his head up high and led Ian around as if Fiona wasn’t there, prepared to take Ian by the arm to guide him. She’d never know that the nobody Ian had loved would become such an important part in his life later on.

-

Ian smelt like leaves. He smelt like autumn. There was a coldness, a loneliness, to it and an underlying tone of decay and death. It _ached_ that while Mickey could at first smell Ian’s deodorant, his soap and shampoo, he could also catch these scents. He’d worried that the stab wounds to Ian’s back might’ve opened up but they hadn’t. They’d healed over a long time before Mickey had come back into his life.

It was a scent he forced himself to get over. He needed to if he was going to be by his side.

Frank’s smell was a little harder to ignore.

Frank hadn’t been part of the family the last time Mickey had lived in the Gallagher house, but he’d since then blown up Sheila Jackson’s house and had nowhere else to go. It looked like the other Gallaghers had been too preoccupied with Ian to kick him out. Sammi, the step-sister, and Chuckie were also living there, making it the busiest, loudest, smelliest house Mickey had ever been inside. Ian might’ve had an underlying scent of something dead but it was the first scent to assault his nose when it came to Frank. His body was fighting against its new liver – Mickey could tell.

And really, even if Mickey could’ve told someone about it, he wouldn’t have. God, he’d let that trash die.

The only downside to that would be his body rotting on the couch.

While Lip was living on campus, Sammi and Chuckie had taken his bed and Frank had turned to couch into his own personal, disgusting cot.

Mickey would sooner be a Pomeranian than be blamed for the fleas Frank brought into the household.

It wasn’t like Mickey saw much of Frank, though. He spent all of his time by Ian’s side, who barely moved from his bedroom those first few weeks. The only time Ian would leave was when he had to go to the bathroom. His meals were brought up to him, he’d quit school again, he showered maybe twice a week and saw the sunlight even less. Mickey, at least, had to go outside whenever nature called and ate twice a day out of a bowl Debbie filled in the morning and night.

(dog food was the worst thing about being a dog, fuck)

Frank was a piece of shit about it. He hated Mickey and complained that him being there meant some poor sightless person who actually wanted to live their life went without while Ian wasted away.

It had been worth the nasty taste Frank left in his mouth, but Mickey had nipped the fucker in the ankle when he burst in on Ian in his room the second week.

It had definitely been worth it for the way Ian’s lips actually curved upwards as Frank cussed and shouted as Fiona forced him back out after she’d heard the commotion.

“Good boy,” Fiona had said to Mickey before she pushed at Frank to get him back down the stairs.

“Good boy,” Ian had mirrored and had scratched Mickey behind the ear for it.

Mickey’s tail wagged so strongly that it probably would’ve snapped the ankle of anyone who stood too closely behind him.

-

Mickey fucking loved KONGs. Debbie and Liam were the ones who stuffed them and threw them out into the backyard for him to chase and they were the ones who got the most enjoyment over how long it took for him to figure out how to get the pieces of food out of the fucking things. Liam always looked the proudest when he picked the toy up out of the yard to find it empty in an hour or so and Fiona always sighed the heaviest because she was promised at the pet store that it would last a few hours, at the least.

There were times where Mickey realised he was a dog and other times when he realised he was a human trapped as a dog. He referred to the moments where he felt more like a dog as a moment where Hunter took over.

The existential crises came when he was trying to sleep, every night. He was given a dog bed that he often felt the need to rip into to sleep in but the moment he saw it on the floor beside Ian’s bed, he scooped it up in his mouth and bounded up onto the foot of Ian’s mattress. He’d gotten so used to sleeping beside Ian that he couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping anywhere other than on his bed with him. Even if it had to be at his feet and the fucking giraffe kicked him most of the night, he’d be on that bed with him.

Being beside Ian didn’t scare away the odd truths about his situation.

He was a dog.

He had died and had somehow returned as a fucking dog.

Reincarnation wasn’t a thing, as far as Mickey was concerned. He’d always been of the belief that once you die, that’s it. You’re dead. He used to believe in heaven and hell and angels and ghosts when he was much younger but he grew out of the idea of faith or believing in something higher, so coming back to life after he was murdered was far beyond anything he’d been willing to accept.

Honestly, Mickey wouldn’t have accepted if it hadn’t actually happened to him and had brought him back to Ian.

The fact that he’d come back as a Labrador didn’t make the situation any easier for him.

Sometimes, he’d fall asleep to the sound of Ian’s breathing. Other times, he’d wake in a panic or not sleep at all. He dreamt of that night – the image of some fucker stabbing Ian kept him from sleeping as it replayed behind his eyelids most nights. Carl laughed it off as him chasing after rabbits in his dreams. Ian didn’t care for it except to reach down to card his fingers through Mickey’s fur. He could always ground Mickey, pull him out of a place he didn’t want to be.

Another thing that bothered Mickey was the time that had passed. He’d died in April but had graduated from his guide dog training only two months later _but_ he remembered the full year he’d lived as Hunter. He remembered the months he’d spent with his trainer and the year before that as a puppy living with a family.

It made no sense to him that he’d remember a lifetime he couldn’t had possibly lived and yet he did.

Nothing made sense, really, but he took the opportunity he was given to be around Ian again.

-

Ian didn’t seem to like life very much. He didn’t seem to like anything. His bedroom became his home, his brothers and sisters only saw him whenever they poked their head in to check on him. Mickey stayed by his side the whole time as he sat in the dark, listening to music or the audio readings of books Debbie downloaded for him. It frightened Mickey that someone so full of life and energy could turn into what Ian was.

Sometimes, Ian would take the headphones off and just lie on his back. Mickey wondered what he was thinking of in those times. He was scared of those thoughts because he knew his own would be full of nasty things, of dark things – thoughts that weren’t for the mind of a loved one.

If Ian spent too much time in that space, Mickey would impede. He’d move closer to him and demand pets. He’d lick at his hands and his face, press his nose against Ian’s cheek; do anything to bring him back out. If he pressed enough, Ian came back, with soft pets and they might’ve only been half-hearted, but they were enough.

Other times, though, Ian would wordlessly push at him. He’d find whatever part of Mickey he could and shove at his body, make him leave the room because he didn’t want to deal with him. Mickey would give him another two minutes before he searched downstairs for someone to help. Fiona was the best at it. She’d gently coax him into the light in ways Mickey couldn’t as a dog.

Those moments weren’t like the low he’d gone through after Mickey’s grand coming out, but they were still enough to scare everyone around him.

His medications were strictly monitored. Mickey figured there’d been a lot of back-and-forth between Ian, Fiona and counsellors in the months following his death. Mickey had only seen a hint of his disorder before he’d died and from what he’d seen of it, Ian hadn’t been very fond of the idea that he was sick. Mickey couldn’t blame him but he also struggled to understand how Ian could’ve denied it that strongly when it was so obvious.

It didn’t matter how Ian came to face the fact that he was sick. He was getting help for it and that was what was important to Mickey.

He stayed by Ian’s side, no matter what, and until Ian pushed him away, he felt like his company was at least a little bit appreciated.

Mickey had been at the Gallagher house for a little over two weeks when Ian finally broke down.

Ian’s hands were Mickey’s everything. They touched him so gently, sifting through his fur, patting him and scratching him and Mickey loved everything about them. He couldn’t be Ian’s lover anymore, he knew he couldn’t be, not as a dog, but he was Ian’s companion and helped to keep him safe and that was more than enough for Mickey.

He sighed heavily, letting his body breathe against Ian’s. It wasn’t at all like it used to be, when they were both humans and curled up in bed together.

“I was in love,” Ian said softly and Mickey lifted his head to look at him. Ian hadn’t said a word to him since he’d bitten Frank and it meant the world to hear his voice again. And then Ian’s words hit Mickey. He lowered his head to Ian’s chest with uncertainty. This wasn’t something he was sure he wanted to listen to but if this is what it took for Ian to talk, he’d take it.

“The night I went blind, I was with him. We were walking to the train station after my shift at the club.” His fingers scratched Mickey behind the ear absently. “We were attacked. They hit me on the back of my head, knocked me out and stabbed me, but they dragged Mi – _him_ – away into an alley.” He paused and sniffled. “The police said there were witnesses that heard him screaming my name. They said he sounded scared. He was so fucking scared.” Tears fell from Ian’s eyes and Mickey never wanted to be human more than he did in that moment. All he wanted to do was be able to wipe them away and hold Ian close and make everything better. “They never found his body. The police told me that there was so much blood that he couldn’t have survived, but they never found the body.” He started to openly cry. “I wanted to believe that he was out there somewhere but it was so long ago. I miss him so much.”

Mickey crawled his way up Ian’s body and dropped on top of him. He had no plan, no hopes or expectations, but it was the closest thing to a hug he useless four legs could manage. Ian’s arms came up around him. He held him close as he sobbed into his fur, letting go of months of sadness and pain.

-

Things changed from there.

Ian went downstairs. He woke up and fumbled through his drawers and he found some actual real and clean clothes to put on (and sure, it might’ve taken him a while to put them on the right way but that didn’t stop Mickey from being proud of him).

Ian found his cane easily enough and Mickey stayed as close to Ian as he could without tripping him up.

There was a surprised and happy gasp that left Fiona’s chest the moment she saw Ian. “Hey, sweetheart,” she cooed and dropped the lunch she was preparing for Liam for preschool so she could bustle across the kitchen to wrap him up in a hug. It warmed Mickey’s soul to see Ian return it.

God, he loved this boy more than anything.

-

Debbie smelt like the ocean.

And peanut butter.

But mainly the ocean.

And it was strange to Mickey because he’d never been to the ocean before. He just _knew_ that Debbie smelt like it. There was something so refreshing about her but deadly at the same time.

Debbie would take him for walks if Ian wasn’t feeling up to it. The Gallagher yard was too small for all the energy that would build in Mickey’s tiny body. She’d put the leash on him instead of the harness, which, to a guide dog, meant he got to be a _dog_ that day, not a responsible and well-trained aid.

She’d take him to the park and he’d go for his run. It was ridiculous that Ian had spent so long trying to get him to go on morning jogs with him and now he was stuck with afternoon walks with Debbie instead. It made Mickey regret that he hadn’t joined Ian all those months ago.

He’d let the Hunter side of him take over and would play with the other dogs if there were any there.

(the butt-sniffing thing made him squeamish – the only time he’d wanted anything resembling a snout near his butt was when Ian suggested rimming)

And when he noticed that something was upsetting Debbie, he was there for her, too.

“Your dog is awesome!”

They’d come back from their walk where Debbie had gotten into a bit of an argument with some girls she’d previously referred to as friends.

Mickey had done what he could to protect Ian’s little sister.

He bounded over to Ian and put his head on his lap, ready for all the petting in the world and Ian gave him just what he wanted.

“Yeah,” Ian agreed and Mickey preened at the kind words.

“What did he do?” Fiona asked and Mickey’s attention quickly moved on to Debbie as she reached for the KONG on top of the fridge.

He felt Hunter take over as quickly as he tried to shove him down. He wanted that fucking toy, damnit.

“He peed all over Holly when she was being bitchy to me,” Debbie explained and Mickey nearly wet himself when he saw her grab out the peanut butter and a biscuit from the secret stash that was just a little way out of his reach (he’d tried).

Carl scoffed from where he was sitting at the table. “Ian’s dog doesn’t like the bitches? That’s a shocker.”

Ian flipped him off over his shoulder.

“Can dogs be gay?” Fiona frowned and put a plate of food down for Liam.

“Penguins can be gay,” Debbie pointed out. “Swans, too.”

Ian nodded his head. “Sea turtles have bisexual threesomes all the time. Why can’t dogs be gay?”

Mickey didn’t know about other dogs, but he was fine with being a gay do – was that _cheese_? Fuck, he loved it when Debbie put cheese in the KONG.

“Gay or not, Hunter’s got pretty big balls to be doing that to Holly,” Fiona said and Mickey lowered himself onto his belly because he remembered _that_ trip to the vet.

“Does he even have balls?” Ian asked and Mickey couldn’t hold back the whimper.

Ian used to love his balls.

“I’m pretty sure he’s been neutered,” said Debbie and shook the KONG by Mickey’s snout. “It makes sense, right? Fixed dogs behave better.”

“Less testosterone,” Fiona quipped and grinned at the twin unimpressed looks Ian and Carl sent her.

It wasn’t like Mickey was using his testosterone anyway. He wasn’t exactly planning on having sex again, ever, or reproducing.

Mickey’s stomach plummeted at the thought of Yevgeny. Since his coming out, he’d gotten closer to the baby. He’d come to love Yevgeny, who would now grow up without a father. Mickey would do what he could to watch over him. It wouldn’t be much, but he’d try.

Debbie distracted him – fucking dogs were too easily distracted – and threw the KONG out the back door. Hunter took over and his paws pounded across the floor so he could fly out into the backyard.

-

Ian spent quite a bit of time at the Ball house. The walk was something he was comfortable with and while it didn’t really expel the energy he naturally had as a dog, it at least got Mickey out of the house for a little while. Seeing the twins helped calm the paternal instincts that had magically appeared in the couple of months he had between coming out and dying.

He’d been living with the Gallaghers for four weeks as Hunter when Kev finally brought it up.

“Hey, so I thought guide dogs were supposed to be yellow or something,” Kev said and juggled the twins in his lap.

From what Mickey could understand, Veronica and Kev had gone through a falling out. She struggled with the babies – with the changes in her life that came with being a parent and the heartbreak of no longer being someone’s number one priority. Mickey thought it might’ve been post-partum depression, but that was only a thing he’d heard about once or twice in his life, so what did he know? He definitely wasn’t an expert on the matter.

But after some time away from each other, the Fisher-Ball family came back together. Kev was the stay-at-home dad and V was the working mum and they made it work. He didn’t mind the twins so much – well, Amy had a tendency to yank on his fur whenever he was within arm’s reach.

When Kev brought this up, Mickey was lying on his front by Ian’s feet, grossed out by the stench of a wet nappy.

“He’s not?” Ian asked and honestly, Mickey hadn’t thought much about it, either.

“Shit,” Kev cursed and motioned at his face. “I forgot that you can’t…”

It was something that happened more often than not. The people surrounding Ian couldn’t say that he was blind, that he couldn’t see. They would just wave a hand in front of their face, forgetting that he can’t see the motion.

“I’d love to forget that.”

“Sorry.”

For a moment, only the gurgling of babies filled the otherwise silent house.

“So Hunter’s not yellow?” Ian asked to end the awkwardness. “What colour is he?”

“Brown.”

“He’s a German shepherd then?”

“Nah, man,” Kev said and slapped his hand over the couch to find his phone. The girls both reached for it when he held it up and unlocked it. “Oh, so guide dogs can be brown. He’s a, uh, chocolate Labrador.” He showed Ian the pictures he’d Googled before he bashfully realised what he was doing. “I’d show you, like on my phone, but…”

“But I can’t see it.” He reached down and scratched behind Mickey’s ear.

“You know,” Kev said slowly, like he was wary of what he was about to say. “He kind of reminds me of Mickey.” Ian’s fingers paused. “Has anyone said that yet?”

“No one’s said his name yet,” Ian said and his fingers started to move more gently through Mickey’s fur. His voice was soft – Mickey didn’t miss that Ian hadn’t said his name, either, or how strange it was to finally hear his name voiced. “Not since I woke up at the hospital and the cops told me what happened.”

“I think we’re all scared to talk about him. If I were you and that had happened to me and Veronica, I’d give up, man, and I’m not depressed or whatever.”

Mickey felt like biting Kev for bringing that up. He’d rather keep the conversation as far away from that as possible.

“It’s hard. I’ve thought about it.” Mickey felt like biting Ian, too. “Things are getting easier. I don’t feel like I’m putting Fiona out anymore now that I have Hunter and that makes me feel a lot better these days, but it was so hard at first.” Honestly, Mickey hadn’t expected Ian to open up that much. He’d always kept his problems to himself. “I don’t really wanna talk about him, you know? I just miss him so much.”

Kev quickly changed. “Yeah, so it’s crazy early to be thinking about it, but are you dressing up as Daredevil for Halloween or are you gonna let that perfect opportunity slip you by?”

“I was thinking more of a Blind-As-A-Batman sort of deal,” Ian laughed.

-

Carl, for the most part, smelt like cum.

Mickey hated that.

Underneath that, though, was a warmth that Mickey didn’t expect. It was layered with curiosity (not that he knew what curiosity smelt like, he was very confused all the time about the scents his nose picked up because they very rarely made sense to him) and sugar and really, Mickey couldn’t understand where any of it was coming from because the neighbourhood’s impression of Carl fucking Gallagher was that he was a sociopathic little freak sired not by Frank but the devil.

The more he spent with him, though, the more he understood it.

Carl actually was a curious ball of warmth and sweetness whenever he was around his siblings. Debbie was his best friend, he loved Liam more than anything, he wished he could do better for Fiona, he looked up to Lip and wanted to be Ian.

The first time he came home smelling like drugs was the last time, as far as Mickey was concerned. He’d heard that dogs that didn’t do so well at the guide dog training generally went on to be the sniffer dogs at airports and he knew exactly why that was.

Mickey found more than a couple of grams of heroin on him. It was a sizable stash that even the Milkovich house hadn’t seen save for a few desperate times. He felt like a snitch, he really did, but the last thing Ian needed was for his little brother to get into some pretty heavy legal trouble, so Mickey snitched.

It went against everything he knew but protecting Ian was more important to him.

Carl dropped his bag at the foot of his bed when he got home from being out all morning and ducked into the bathroom. Mickey waited until the door was closed before he picked the back up in his mouth and took it back down the stairs with him to where Fiona was sitting at the kitchen table, going through their bills. She wasn’t too impressed by him trying to put it into her lap but she ended up taking the bag from him anyway, only to place it on the floor beside her chair.

Mickey might’ve huffed, it might’ve sounded more like he’d sneezed, but not being able to communicate with the humans he lived with sucked.

So he moved to the other side of her and tried his hardest to open up the zips.

“What do you think you’re doing, Hunter?” Fiona grumbled as he continued to make a fuss beside her. He probably looked like a shark trying to rip a chunk of blubber from a whale carcass from how he was thrashing his head from side to side, trying to get the fucking zipper open. “Did Carl buy you some snacks or something?”

The Hunter part of him perked up at the S word. Motherfucker.

She finally took the bag from him and opened it up to have a look. The less-than-impressed look she was wearing faded to one of rage.

“ _Carl_!”

The toilet upstairs flushed. Mickey could hear Carl darting from the bathroom to his bedroom, followed by a hasty hissed-out _shit_ before he slowly made his way down the staircase. Mickey sat beside Fiona, who’d moved to stand, bag of marijuana in one hand and the other perched on her hip.

He was in for the hiding of his life.

And at first, Carl was indignant. He was all huffy about Fiona going through his shit before he saw Mickey sitting beside her.

“Ian! Your fucking guide dog’s a gay little snitch!”

Ian, who’d been curled up in one of the armchairs in the lounge with a set of headphones and an audio book, had poked his head into the kitchen the moment he’d heard Fiona holler at Carl.

“Are we sure he’s gay…?”

“That’s not important,” Fiona barked out. Mickey looked over at his charge and saw that he was grinning. “What are you doing with these drugs!?”

It turned into quite the spectacle. Frank meandered in at the mentioning of the drugs and Sammi had followed him.

There was something about a runner getting shot and Carl being the one to replace him and a bus trip and a part of Mickey wanted to commend the boy on his rising up the drug dealing world but he knew that wasn’t how the Gallaghers did things. This was more Milkovich territory than it was Gallagher territory.

Before they could figure out what they were going to do, Fiona was intent on finding out why Carl would do something so stupid and that was when it got really bad.

“We need the money!” Carl finally shouted at Fiona after he’d taken all that he could from her. The kitchen fell silent. The money debacle hadn’t been something they’d touched on in a while – not while Ian was in earshot, anyway. “I don’t know how you got the loans to pay for Ian’s medical bills, but I know you’re getting trouble because of it and I wanted to do my part to help out. And I’m not a genius scammer like Lip and I can’t pass as old enough to be a dancer at some gay club and this is the only thing I could find to do.”

They talked it out some more and Carl agreed not to get involved any further but that didn’t stop the problem that arose from them having the drugs in their house. Carl was expected to make the drop later in the day and there was no way they were going to let him go through with it.

“How about Iggy?” Ian asked and Mickey froze.

“Milkovich?” Fiona asked to clarify.

“Yeah. I guess he’d be in charge of all of that now. I mean, Terry’s still locked up, right? And Colin left for New York ages ago to do his own thing…”

“And Mickey’s dead,” Frank said bluntly, making everyone who wasn’t Ian turn on him. He ran with his tail between his legs, free of a taste of Carl’s product, when Mickey started growling at him.

“I don’t really feel like going back there,” Ian continued on as if Frank hadn’t happened. “But I’m sure he’d listen.”

Mickey had to admit that he felt a little disappointed that Ian didn’t want to go. He’d wanted to see Iggy.

Fuck, and Yevgeny.

If Ian wasn’t planning on doing anything for the rest of the day, he’d go with whoever was sent on that trip.

“I’ll go,” Fiona decided and Ian nodded his head. “Stay downstairs, yeah? With Carl or Sammi.”

“I’m not going to kill myself because Frank said he’s dead,” Ian said dryly, but sighed heavily nonetheless. “I’ll stay downstairs.” He waved his phone. “I’ve got the rest of this book to finish off.”

Fiona and Carl shared a look that Ian could never see but Mickey read it well enough. It was a wordless promise that Carl would stay by his brother’s side while his sister dealt with his shit. Mickey nudged Ian’s leg with his nose and helped steer him back to the armchair before he returned to Fiona.

“I swear to God that you understand English sometimes,” Fiona sighed, looking down at Mickey. “Hunter’s coming with me, Ian.”

Svetlana and Yevgeny weren’t home. It broke Mickey’s heart a little that he wouldn’t be able to see his son but seeing his brother was almost as good. Mandy was still in Indiana – she didn’t want to be sitting on her arse, doing nothing until they found her brother’s dead body and return after the funeral. She’d come back if and when they had a funeral for him or if he magically came back to them alive. Mickey knew the latter wasn’t going to happen and it tore him up inside.

Iggy took the drugs off Fiona and promised he’d figure something out that wouldn’t get Carl killed. He said it was a one-time thing and just about slammed the door in her face. Mickey got the feeling that Iggy blamed the Gallaghers for taking his family away from him – Mandy wouldn’t have left if she hadn’t turned to Kenyatta after Lip and Mickey wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t come out for Ian.

He looked sick. He wasn’t handling Mickey’s death well at all. Mickey would’ve been the same.

Iggy got back to them that night. He told them that everything was fixed but that Carl had to stay away from the business if he knew what was good for him.

-

Lip smelt green.

Mickey didn’t completely understand that. He didn’t know how someone could smell like a colour, but Lip managed it.

Sometimes, Mickey would think that he smelt green like money. He didn’t smell like money, but he seemed to represent it. Maybe it was the expensive smell of the leather of his girlfriend’s car seats or a new jacket she’d bought him. Maybe it was the potential him going to college gave him to make money in the future.

Other times, Mickey thought he smelt jealous. Jealousy was a dirtier sort of green than money was. Mickey got the feeling that Lip was jealous that the Gallaghers got to stay Gallaghers. The ones that stayed in the house while he went off and got his higher education didn’t have to change. They were allowed to be themselves and together and Mickey felt like Lip was jealous of that. He really hoped that the jealousy wasn’t because of the attention Ian was receiving now that he was blind.

He’d gnaw the fucker’s leg off if that was the case.

Though sometimes Mickey felt like the green was because Lip was entering a new world. He was creating a new life for himself, away from the family and everything he knew. In that world, he was as green as a sapling, weak and fragile, but would grow into something strong and sturdy in time if he wasn’t snapped in half first.

He came back to the Gallagher house every now and then and while he was all about this new life of his, he was still the old Lip fucking Gallagher Mickey had no love for.

“Is there any way you can claim weed is medicinal for blindness?”

It was the fourth of July and Mickey hated the summer with a shaggy coat he could never take off and he hated that Lip was home. Ian loved Lip’s company, which was something Mickey had known long before he’d died and been turned into a dog, but Lip usually disappeared whenever Mickey was around back then. He hadn’t needed to put up with him like he did as Hunter, who was forever by Ian’s side. So when Lip came home for the weekend, it was all about him without Mickey to deter his presence.

It sucked worse than the heat.

“Don’t think so,” Ian said and took another hit. He deliberately blew it out away from Mickey (V had done some homework on the subject and had learnt that marijuana was bad for dogs), having one hand around the joint and the other on Mickey’s head as the three of them sat outside on the second storey, out on the stairs. Ian was sandwiched between Mickey and Lip, only Mickey was laying on his front.

The day had been long and loud and now they were waiting for the fireworks that followed the neighbourhood-wide party.

“You’re doing better.” Lip’s words sounded calculated. “With what happened and you being blind, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you planning on getting back on the horse any time soon?”

Jesus, Mickey hoped Lip wasn’t talking about what he thought he was talking about.

“Or, you know, the dick?”

Mickey wasn’t ready for this conversation and he wasn’t even a part of this conversation.

“No,” Ian answered simply. “I thought I was going to grow old with him and I’m not. I’m not ready…” He let the sentence drop, perhaps in the hopes that Lip would let the subject follow.

Lip didn’t. “That’s a pity,” he said. “There was this guy at the party who was eyeing you. Now I can’t say if he was cute or not, but I think he would’ve been alright. A lot better than Mickey, anyway.”

“Jesus, Lip.” Mickey raised his head with Ian’s anger. “You can go fuck yourself.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“He’s been dead for four fucking months.” He got to his feet and Mickey followed, brushing up against Ian’s knee so he knew where he was, only faltering slightly when he realised it was the first time he’d heard Ian say he was dead. “I’m not going to move on so quickly.”

“You deserved better,” Lip argued as he stood, too.

“I deserve someone I love!” His hand gripped onto Mickey’s harness. “I love Mickey. I fucking love Mickey and I can’t have him anymore and it’s bullshit because you had that with Mandy, you had someone who loved you like Mickey loved me and you threw her away and Christ, you’ll never know how fucking lucky you are.” He took a calming breath. “Every girl you go near falls in love with you and you treat them like shit and I just don’t understand. I would _kill_ to have that back and you just gave it away like it was nothing to you. I fucking love Mickey.” The calming breath didn’t work as the tears started to well in his eyes. “Why do you get everything? Why do you get to leave this place and live your dream, huh? Why do you get people falling at your fucking feet with your brain and your bullshit and I’m the mentally fucked up bipolar queer ginger with the wrong dad, the dead boyfriend and the MPs after me and the useless fucking eyes? Why can’t I be happy for more than five fucking minutes?”

Maybe the green Mickey smelt on Lip was the envy Ian rubbed off on him.

“Shit, Ian…”

“God, you fucking quit school because you stupidly thought Karen was having your kid when I was struggling to pass my grades, and you just took it all for granted, like you weren’t having the world thrown at your feet. You’ve never had to fight for anything – you have no idea what Mickey and I have been through over the years, how hard we’ve had to fight to have a _moment_ of what we had – and you think Mickey isn’t good enough for me? You’re not good enough for half of the shit you get. I deserve what I love, what I’ve fought for, and that’s Mickey. You can shove any other opinion on the matter up your ass.”

Ian turned and urged Mickey to walk with him and Mickey was torn between wanting to bite Lip, _hard_ , and wanting to hold Ian with human arms he didn’t have anymore, but he went with Ian and hoped to hell that he could offer him some kind of support.

They went straight to the bedroom. Ian closed the door behind him and fell against it like he’d been holding himself up for as long as he needed to keep his head up and slipped down the door, sobbing well before he fell into a sitting position. Mickey went with him, crawling into his lap as he felt Ian’s fingers tangle into his fur.

Mickey didn’t know how Ian was doing it. He’d lasted those few months while Ian was gone with vodka and beer and whiskey as his support with the hope that he’d be back in four years. Ian didn’t have that hope. He could easily get his hands on the alcohol or any other drug he fancied, but the hope wasn’t there that Mickey would come back.

He’d finally admitted it out loud that Mickey was dead.

He cried harder than he had that night he’d first cried with Mickey. It broke Mickey’s heart. Ian was finally accepting that Mickey was dead, that he was gone forever. His wails were loud and gut-wrenching, they probably hurt his stomach and his throat as he hid his face in Mickey’s body and let it all out. Months of pain and sorrow and this understanding that there was no going back to what his life had been. There was no sense in waiting for the police to suddenly find him alive. He’d spend the next however many years, be it one or seventy, without Mickey.

-

Svetlana came by a couple of days later.

She had Yevgeny with her.

As far as Mickey knew, it was the first time she and Ian had been around each other since the attack. She let Ian hold Yev for nearly an hour before they spread a blanket out over the linoleum of the kitchen and set him down on it with a few of his toys while they talked over a cup of coffee.

Mickey had been there with them the entire time, wanting nothing more than to have a pair of arms of his own to hold his son.

“You trust wolf with Yevgeny?” Mickey heard her ask as he approached the baby.

Yevgeny was sitting up on his own. The last time Mickey had seen him, he needed to be propped up on the couch. He’d grown so much.

“Hunter’s good with babies,” Ian said and that was all the approval Mickey needed. He nosed at Yevgeny and was infinitely thankful that he was sitting in a fresh nappy before he curled around his son. Ian would be fine without him while Svetlana was with him – he wouldn’t need him – so Mickey took the chance to be with the kid he didn’t even know he’d missed.

Yevgeny was gentle with him. He patted him softly like he knew how to act around pets. His chubby fingers ran through Mickey’s fur, squealing over the fuzzy feel of it on his palms and Mickey tried so hard to not let his emotions get out of control, but this was his _son_. Yevgeny fell against him and Mickey nearly whimpered. He reached over and licked at his son’s face, making Yevgeny giggle, and they played like that for what felt like hours until Yevgeny’s eyelids started to droop.

He finally cuddled into Mickey’s side and fell asleep and Mickey couldn’t imagine not wanting anything to do with the child. He was beautiful and perfect and filled Mickey with a sense of love he didn’t yet understand.

Mickey slept with him, lulled by Yevgeny’s soft breathing and the occasional clench of his tiny fists in his fur.

Ian’s soft hands woke them up some time later. Mickey nuzzled at Ian’s palm as he steadily woke and tried not to get too upset when Ian pulled Yevgeny away from him.

Yevgeny did enough whining for the both of them when he realised what was going on. The diaper bag was slung over Svetlana’s shoulder – they were leaving. Yevgeny wailed the moment he was passed onto his mother, reaching for Mickey, who stood to follow them.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked. His hand was still on Mickey’s head but moved down to his harness when he felt Mickey try to trail after Svetlana as she moved to leave the house.

A whimper escaped him as Yevgeny reached for him and the baby babbled away.

“I think they like each other,” Svetlana said softly and adjusted Yevgeny on her hip. “But we have to go.”

Yevgeny cried out worse when she opened the door, squirming and writhing and kicking until Svetlana knelt down to give them one last moment of farewell. Yevgeny soothed when Mickey pressed his nose into his belly and could run his hands over the top of Mickey’s head.

Then, without caring for their crying, Svetlana stood and took Yevgeny away.

Mickey didn’t leave the house – he wouldn’t do that to Ian – but he broke free from him and bounded over to the window to watch Yevgeny leave.

“Hunter,” Ian called but all he wanted to do was curl up and mope. “Hunter.”

When Yevgeny was out of his sight, Mickey finally turned back to Ian. He was still wearing his harness. He was supposed to do as his One said, regardless to how much he was hurting.

“You’ll see him again,” Ian promised and smoothed down his fur with firm pets like he was trying to comfort him.

Mickey spent the rest of the day wishing he could’ve followed Svetlana and Yevgeny out the door and when he was finally let out of his harness, all he did was curl up under the window like he was expecting them to return.

Fiona smelt like fire.

She didn’t smell like smoke, though.

She smelt like a passionate whirlwind of life and strength that could be blown out with the slightest change in the breeze; like she could burn a life away or bring life, like how some trees needed the heat and the smoke from a bushfire to release their seeds.

On top of all of that was the sweet smell of peach blossom, courtesy of a moisturiser, but it was mainly fire.

He smelt the fire just moments before he heard Fiona sit beside him. Her hands trailed over his head and his neck softly, scratching through the course hair behind his ears, like they could soothe the ache he was feeling.

“Ian told me what happened. Did you have pups?” she asked softly and Mickey’s ear twitched her way. “Back before you came here? Did you have pups? Is that why losing Yev upset you like this?”

Fiona moved so she was resting back against the wall, right under the window, and gently eased Mickey’s head onto her thigh as he let out a high whine.

“I’m terrified of losing this,” Fiona continued. He didn’t have to look at her to know that she’d waved towards the staircase. “I don’t want to lose my pups. I think that’s why I like you so much. When I got that call that Ian was in the hospital – that he’d been _stabbed_ – I’d never been so scared before in my life. And it just kept getting worse, because Mickey,” she choked on the name, “fuck, Mickey was gone and Ian was blind and still struggling with being bipolar. We were all scared he was going to hurt himself. I think you really helped him through it. You’ve helped all of us.”

-

Mickey knew of Tony the cop – had had a few run-ins with the cop – but he had no idea why Tony would be in the Gallagher house, much less be there to speak with Ian. He wasn’t a detective. He shouldn’t be dealing with murder investigations or Ian’s assault.

He seemed to have an interest in Fiona, even though a shiny new gold wedding band adorned his finger.

“We haven’t found the body yet,” Tony said.

 _The_ body.

Not _Mickey_. Not even _Mickey’s body_.

Just the body.

“We have found his cell phone however.”

Tony produced a phone that wasn’t Mickey’s.

“I can’t take it out of evidence but a guy who owed me a favour copied the date on it.” He unlocked it and searched through it. “There are a few videos and photos I thought you might like…”

“I’m blind. Photos don’t really do much for me.”

Tony winced. “Yes, okay…”

“And videos aren’t going to be useful either.” Ian grabbed for his cane. “Call me when you find _him_.”

Tony stopped him as he slipped out of the stool. “Look.” Everyone cringed. “I mean, listen. My grandma, she lost her eyesight after her husband died and the thought of her forgetting how he looked nearly killed her, too. But then my uncle found a video of my grandpa and all it took was for her to hear the sound of his voice to remember his face and I figure that if you can have the same, it might not be so unbearable.” Ian put his cane to lean against the bench and Tony continued. “It looks like there’s a video here taken a couple of days before the attack that Mickey would want you to hear.”

Oh God, Mickey felt his heart stop. He knew exactly what Tony was talking about and yes, _fuck yes_ , he needed Ian to hear it.

Ian thought on it for a moment before he nodded his head and Tony opened up the file.

Mickey knew exactly what was happening on that screen. He’d taken to filming his moments with Ian and Yev, capturing the moments they had on his phone. It was something Svetlana had suggested – she didn’t want to miss a single moment of her son’s development – and Mickey had found he’d enjoyed it more than he thought he would.

Ian would crawl into bed beside him at night and watch the videos he’d filmed; Mickey would fall asleep to the sound of Yev’s giddy laughter coming from his phone’s speaker (and wake to his cries in a few hours, but the giggles left his heart warm and his dreams sweet).

This video wasn’t meant for Ian’s eyes. It was one he’d filmed knowing he’d have to keep it from him because he’d been saying things he wasn’t ready for Ian to hear just yet.

The screen was split – Ian liked seeing Mickey’s reactions to Yev’s cuteness just as much as he liked to see Yev’s cuteness – and Mickey’s hair was still a mess from sleep and Yev was adorably chipper, having been up squawking for attention before anyone was awake.

“ _All these noises and you still can’t say_ dada,” Mickey grumbled and Yevgeny continued to yabber on to himself around a mouthful of his teddy bear’s ear. It was the strangest thing to hear his own voice now that he had the superior hearing of a dog. “ _Don’t…do you have to drool on that_? _Seriously_? _Because I’m the one who’s gonna have to pick it up later and you know I’m gonna forget and end up with a handful of toothing baby saliva, which is really fucking gross, kid_.”

He reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding onto the phone to pull it out of Yev’s mouth. Yev paused for a moment before he moved on to the other ear.

“ _You’re a little shit_.”

Ian laughed and God, it was a beautiful sound.

“ _Who’s that_?” Mickey asked Yev as Yev tried to turn around when they heard Ian stumble out of the bedroom. “ _Who’s that_?” Mickey pulled Yev up into his lap so they were in the same shot together while Ian was being filmed through the other lens. He yawned as he poured himself a cup of coffee and waved at the pair while he leant back against the bench to drink it.

“ _I’m gonna marry him_.” Mickey said against Yev’s temple, quietly so Ian wouldn’t hear it. The Ian listening to the recording sniffled with oncoming tears. “ _One day. Probably when your grandfather’s dead and buried. And then he’ll be your real step-dad_.” He lowered his lips to blow a raspberry against Yev’s cheek, who squealed and squirmed away from him. Mickey tucked the boy in closer to him. “ _You’d like that, right_? _He’s been a fucking good dad to you already. He loves you and you love him and_ I _love him_ …”

It didn’t matter what else Mickey was saying on camera; Ian covered his face with his hands and bawled into his palms and Mickey knew why. He’d never said that to Ian directly. It was something he’d been too scared to say.

He rose up to rest his head on Ian’s lap to hopefully comfort him. It didn’t seem to work. Fiona moved around the bench to wrap her arms around Ian’s shoulders and he turned to cry into her collarbone, completely overwhelmed with the emotions hearing that confession filled him with.

-

It all disappeared a couple of days later.

Mickey heard the speeding car and the sirens following after it long before Ian would have and deliberately kept him back away from the curb as they walked down the footpath.

He never considered the car swiping another, sending it skidding across the street, straight towards them.

Mickey took in a long, gasping breath and sat upright.

There were no cars coming at him, no sounds of sirens or screams, only white walls, the scent of hospital-grade cleanliness and silence.

He was in a room by himself, sitting up in what seemed to be a hospital bed. If Mickey had thought being reincarnated as a guide dog had been strange, this was completely out of this world.

He could hear the beeping of a heart monitor – the screen was off to his left, showing the steady, if not a little slow, blips of his heart, but he was free from any wires.

There was a knock on a door Mickey hadn’t noticed before, then a person was coming into the room. Mickey looked down at his body to make sure he was decent but he seemed to be in a hospital gown, which made sense since his visitor was a nurse in pristine blue nurse scrubs.

The nurse was familiar. Dark hair, bright blue eyes like the sky and a smile that made him feel at peace.

“Oh, God,” he whimpered just as he realised who she was. “Mom.”

He broke down. Every drop of emotion he’d felt over the past few months flooded him, from the original attack on him and Ian to his love for Yevgeny and the relief that Ian was alive and the joy that came from just being with him, flowed from Mickey, leaving him a sobbing mess.

His mother sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him into her arms. She stroked at his hair and rocked him back and forth and he wrapped his arms around her waist and held on with every ounce of strength he had because he’d missed her so much since she’d died when he was only very little.

He had no idea what was happening to him or his world but God _damn_ he was thankful his mother was there with him.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she cooed into his hair as she tried to soothe him. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. I know it’s been rough and scary and unfair.”

His tears were soaking through the bosom of her scrubs. He wasn’t used to crying, not like this, not so hard that he felt like he was going to be ill, but he kept going until there was nothing left.

And when there was nothing left, when he was all cried out, his mother cupped his face and gently lifted it away to get a good look at him.

“Does that feel better?” Her thumbs wiped away the tears that clung to his cheeks. He nodded his head and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his eye. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. I know this is all confusing but it’s going to be better, I promise.”

Mickey’s voice was rusty when he spoke. “I died.”

Given that he hadn’t been able to speak in months, he wasn’t surprised his voice was barely there.

“You did,” she confirmed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from that.”

“ _You_ died. Years ago. You couldn’t have saved me.”

“You’d be surprised what some of us can do from the other side.”

The confusion grew in Mickey and showed on his face. “So what? You’re like a guardian angel or something? Because no offence, but you’ve been doing a really shitty job.”

A small, sad smile found its way to her lips. “It’s complicated, my Mykola.” It felt like that was the only explanation she could give him. “And I’m sorry you had to die again.”

“Is Ian alright?”

“He’s a little heartbroken that his new friend is dead but he’s alive and unharmed.”

“Still blind?”

“Still blind. He’s waiting for you.”

That had Mickey’s heart beating fast. “But he’s alive, I don’t…”

“You’re alive, too. Just as you were before.”

“As a dog?”

“As Mickey Milkovich. The human.” She squeezed Mickey’s arms. “The one who fathered that adorable baby boy.”

Yevgeny. Mickey smiled at the thought of him. “He’s gotten big, hasn’t he?”

“Babies generally do.”

“He recognised me.”

She smiled and stroked his hair some more. For all that he was happy about being a human again, he didn’t mind the petting. “Did you know that Picasso once did a portrait of a mother, one of his abstract works that you and I wouldn’t understand? Her child saw the portrait and knew that it was her. Young children recognise their parents in ways we forget as we get older. Perhaps it’s because their eyes are wider when they are babies or because we are what they love the most before they learn what love is.”

“I learnt what love is,” Mickey said softly, “and I still recognised you. Back when you were my trainer. You loved me so much.”

She would always love him, Mickey knew that. “Your boy is beautiful.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter? It applies to both.”

“Can you save Mandy?”

His mother let out a sigh so deep that he felt her body expand and shrink with it, which he found strange. She was dead – she shouldn’t have to breathe.

Mickey was breathing though, and the sound of a pulsing heart continued to beep throughout the room.

“She’s waiting for you to wake up, nice and safe, with Ian. I couldn’t protect her from the monsters in her life but this, bringing you back, brought her back.”

Mickey had been surprised to learn that Mandy hadn’t come back after she’d found out that he was gone, but if all of this mess had brought her home from Indiana, he couldn’t have been happier.

“You’ll wake soon,” she continued. “You’ll remember everything. Make the best of your third chance with him.”

“I will.”

-

It was too bright when Mickey woke up. He looked off to his right with a groan, from where he heard the constant beeping, and found Mandy asleep on a chair. He was lethargic – his limbs didn’t feel like moving. Having two arms and two legs was a feeling he never thought he’d be excited over.

He thought he should’ve been panicking. He was waking up from what seemed to be the world’s strangest trip; perhaps the whole thing had been a drug-induced dream. It would make sense. He’d have to check with Iggy over what drugs he was getting and why, because thinking he was Ian’s guide dog for a couple of months was downright fucked up.

“Hey,” he tried to say but found his throat was aching, like he’d been sleeping on his back with his mouth open all night. A hacking noise came from his mouth instead. He tried to gather what saliva he could in his mouth and swallowed, trying to get some moisture into his throat. “Hey.”

Mandy jumped awake even though he’d hardly made a sound louder than he had on his first try. She looked like shit, all pale in the face with bags under her eyes. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her with so little makeup on. “Holy shit, Mickey,” she whispered and her eyes darted over to his left as she got up out of the chair to hug him. It was awkward but warm and he wanted to wrap his arms around her in response but could barely find the energy to make his fingers twitch.

“Ian, _Ian_ , wake up,” Mandy hissed and Mickey turned his head to follow her gaze.

Ian was curled up in another chair and while Mickey’s soul fucking soared at the sight of him, his heart froze because those sunglasses he’d been wearing that day Mickey had found out he was the One were sitting on his face and his cane was resting across his lap.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’d actually been a dog. The attack, his murder, his coming back as Ian’s guide dog; it was all real. His mother had worked some ghosty mojo – fuck it. Fuck. It. Mickey didn’t care.

He’d died twice and he was still there with Ian.

That was all that mattered.

Mandy stretched out over the bed and smacked Ian’s knee. He jolted and wrapped his hand around his cane.

“He’s awake,” Mandy told him and pushed Mickey’s hair back away from his face as she straightened up. She pressed a kiss to his brow and stepped away. “I’m gonna get the doctor. You two probably have a lot to talk about.”

Mickey watched her leave the curtained area they were in and pushed himself up so he was sitting.

“Mick…”

Mickey didn’t let Ian finish. He reached out to grab him and draw him in close. Ian clumsily crashed into the bed but shuffled around so he could hold Mickey, who _finally_ had his arms around him again.

An hour later, they’d talked to doctors and detectives and Mickey didn’t know if the story of how the police found him made any more sense than the truth, but he, along with three others, was found in the basement of some building not too far away from where the attacks took place, stitched up and kept in a chemically induced coma on display by some deranged person who managed to escape once the police finally caught up with him.

“Like mannequins,” Mandy had added after the detectives had explained it to him. “It’s so creepy. And they don’t have any leads, either. What kind of bullshit is that?”

Once they concluded that Mickey had no memory of that particular incident and couldn’t give a detailed description of their attackers, the detectives left.

Ian had held his hand the entire time.

The doctors then explained how they were going to take Mickey’s treatment from then on. He’d need some physical therapy to regain the muscle strength he’d lost while he’d been kept from moving over the couple of months that had passed. They’d keep him at the hospital for another few nights for observation and to fatten him back up.

But again, Mickey didn’t care.

What was important was that he was back in Ian’s life. His One.

-

It was the hardness pressing into his leg that woke Mickey up; the slight rock of Ian’s hips into his side that had his own body responding with eager arousal and awareness. He blinked awake and turned his head to the left, pressing his nose to Ian’s cheek, and that movement brought Ian to the conscious world, too. With a startled breath, Ian’s eyes fluttered open. They didn’t focus on anything but it was a look Mickey was getting used to.

He was getting used to a lot, like eating proper meals again and having trouble lifting Yevgeny or standing for a long time, but he was getting there.

Mickey sidled closer to his boyfriend and planted his lips on his. Ian’s hand came up to cup the back of Mickey’s neck, sliding through his hair, as his own lips curved upwards with a chuckle.

Hands moved quickly then – Mickey’s on Ian’s biceps and Ian’s in Mickey’s hair and over his shoulders as they moved around each other, settling hips against hips and soles of feet to calves, entwining like the lovers they were, and their kisses got heavier, all slips of tongue and panting breaths.

It was the best way either of them knew how to say _good morning_.

“Fiona!”

They parted just as quickly as they’d rolled together.

“Ian and Mickey are having sex in front of Liam!”

Mickey hadn’t even thought of Carl or Liam. He’d been too preoccupied with Ian and his body and the joy that came from waking up beside him, having two arms and two legs and a human dick again.

“No we’re not!” Ian called down and Mickey turned to glare at the teen as he urged Liam out of the room, smirking like the little shithead he was.

“We gotta move back to my place, man,” Mickey sighed and noted how Carl conveniently didn’t close the door behind him.

“We should.” Ian curled in close again and trailed his lips down Mickey’s jaw, feeling the way with his fingers behind lowering his mouth to the skin there.

Mickey almost winced at the bristle of Ian’s stubble. Beard rash was his least favourite thing about making out with his boyfriend. He gave Ian another hard kiss before rolling away from him and out of the bed, despite Ian’s objecting whine.

“Mickey…”

“How long’s it been since you shaved?”

“…dunno. I don’t like doing it.”

Mickey imagined putting a razor to his face when he couldn’t see what he was doing would be about as fun as it sounded. “I’ll do it then,” he offered and had already wrapped his fingers around Ian’s wrist before Ian could respond.

This was their life – it was their future. Mickey would do whatever he could to make this change in Ian’s life easier for him. If that meant helping Ian shave for a few months, then that was fine. If it meant helping him shave for the rest of his life, then Mickey was fine with that, too. Not everyone got second and third chances at living their lives again with the person they love.

“You’ll shave my face for me?”

“Sure.”

Ian shucked the grip Mickey had on his wrist and turned it so he was holding his instead and yanked him back with one strong pull, making Mickey turn sharply and have no choice but to straddle his lap or trip over him.

Mickey went with it, wrapping his arms around Ian’s shoulders when Ian cupped his face in his hands and pulled him down into a languorous kiss that was yet again interrupted by one of Ian’s half-dozen siblings.

“Gross,” Debbie fake-hacked from the hallway. “Don’t you two know what a door is?”

Ian groaned and lowered his forehead to Mickey’s collarbone. “Can I pull the ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’?”

“You’re not four anymore,” Mickey answered and kissed Ian’s temple as he rose off his lap. “Come on.”

He hadn’t been big on hand-holding before but he sought out Ian’s hand more often than not. Ian had his cane to help him move about but he didn’t seem to care about that much when he was palm-to-palm with Mickey.

They had a quick shower (Fiona had already lectured them about the high water bill their shower-sex had caused) before Mickey sat Ian down on the edge of the tub and whipped out the razor and cream. Ian’s hands stayed on Mickey’s hips the entire time and he never once flinched, showing that he had the utmost trust in Mickey, which made Mickey’s heart swell.

And when he was done and wiping the last of the shaving cream off Ian’s chin, Ian smiled up at him. “Thank you,” he said softly and Mickey gave him another kiss. “Is this gonna be a daily thing now?”

“Every day for the rest of my life if that’s what you want.”

He wasn’t going to skimp on the affection this time around. Whatever Ian wanted, Ian was going to get because he was never again going to leave him without letting him know that he was loved with every breath Mickey took.

**Author's Note:**

> It's actually kind of shit ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
